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have never thought that the world lost more in the 〃marvellous boy；〃
Chatterton； than a very ingenious imitator of obscure and antiquated
dulness。 Where he becomes original （as it is called）； the interest of
ingenuity ceases and he becomes stupid。 Kirke White's promises were
indorsed by the respectable name of Mr。 Southey； but surely with no
authority from Apollo。 They have the merit of a traditional piety；
which to our mind； if uttered at all； had been less objectionable in
the retired closet of a diary； and in the sober raiment of prose。
They do not clutch hold of the memory with
the drowning pertinacity of Watts； neither have they the interest of
his occasional simple； lucky beauty。 Bums having fortunately been
rescued by his humble station from the contaminating society of the
〃Best models；〃 wrote well and naturally from the first。 Had he been
unfortunate enough to have had an educated taste； we should have had
a series of poems from which； as from his letters； we could sift here
and there a kernel from the mass of chaff。 Coleridge's youthful
efforts give no promise whatever of that poetical genius which
produced at once the wildest； tenderest； most original and most
purely imaginative poems of modem times。 Byron's 〃Hours of Idleness〃
would never find a reader except from an intrepid and indefatigable
curiosity。 In Wordsworth's first preludings there is but a dim
foreboding of the creator of an era。 From Southey's early poems； a
safer augury might have been drawn。 They show the patient
investigator； the close student of history； and the unwearied
explorer of the beauties of predecessors； but they give no assurances
of a man who should add aught to stock of household words； or to the
rarer and more sacred delights of the fireside or the arbor。 The
earliest specimens of Shelley's poetic mind already； also； give
tokens of that ethereal sublimation in which the spirit seems to soar
above the regions of words； but leaves its body； the verse； to be
entombed； without hope of resurrection； in a mass of them。 Cowley is
generally instanced as a wonder of precocity。 But his early
insipidities show only a capacity for rhyming and for the metrical
arrangement of certain conventional combinations of words； a capacity
wholly dependent on a delicate physical organization； and an unhappy
memory。 An early poem is only remarkable when it displays an effort
of _reason； _and the rudest verses in which we can trace some
conception of the ends of poetry； are worth all the miracles of
smooth juvenile versification。 A school…boy； one would say； might
acquire the regular see…saw of Pope merely by an association with the
motion of the play…ground tilt。
Mr。 Poe's early productions show that he could see through the verse
to the spirit beneath； and that he already had a feeling that all the
life and grace of the one must depend on and be modulated by the will
of the other。 We call them the most remarkable boyish poems that we
have ever read。 We know of none that can compare with them for
maturity of purpose； and a nice understanding of the effects of
language and metre。 Such pieces are only valuable when they display
what we can only express by the contradictory phrase of _innate
experience。 _We copy one of the shorter poems； written when the
author was only fourteen。 There is a little dimness in the filling
up； but the grace and symmetry of the outline are such as few poets
ever attain。 There is a smack of ambrosia about it。
TO HELEN
Helen； thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore；
That gently； o'er a perfumed sea；
The weary； way…worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore。
On desperate seas long wont to roam；
Thy hyacinth hair； thy classic face；
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome。
Lo！ in yon brilliant window…niche
How statue…like I see thee stand！
The agate lamp within thy hand；
Ah ！ Psyche； from the regions which
Are Holy Land ！
It is the tendency of_ _the young poet that impresses us。 Here is no
〃withering scorn；〃 no heart 〃blighted〃 ere it has safely got into its
teens； none of the drawing…room sansculottism which Byron had brought
into vogue。 All is limpid and serene； with a pleasant dash of the
Greek Helicon in it。 The melody of the whole； too； is remarkable。 It
is not of that kind which can be demonstrated arithmetically upon the
tips of the fingers。 It is of that finer sort which the inner ear
alone _can _estimate。 It seems simple； like a Greek column； because
of its perfection。 In a poem named 〃Ligeia；〃 under which title he
intended to personify the music of nature；； our boy…poet gives us the
following exquisite picture：
Ligeia ！ Ligeia ！
My beautiful one；
Whose harshest idea
Will to melody run；
Say； is it thy will；
On the breezes to toss；
Or； capriciously still；
Like the lone albatross；
Incumbent on night；
As she on the air；
To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there？
John Neal； himself a man of genius； and whose lyre has been too
long capriciously silent； appreciated the high merit of these and
similar passages； and drew a proud horoscope for their author。
Mr。 Poe had that indescribable something which men have agreed to
call _genius。 _No man could ever tell us precisely what it is； and
yet there is none who is not inevitably aware of its presence and its
power。 Let talent writhe and contort itself as it may； it has no such
magnetism。 Larger of bone and sinew it may be； but the wings are
wanting。 Talent sticks fast to earth； and its most perfect works have
still one… foot of clay。 Genius claims kindred with the very workings
of Nature herself； so that a sunset shall seem like a quotation from
Dante； and if Shakespeare be read in the very presence of the sea
itself； his verses shall but seem nobler for the sublime criticism of
ocean。 Talent may make friends for itself； but only genius can give
to its creations the divine power of winning love and veneration。
Enthusiasm cannot cling to what itself is unenthusiastic； nor will he
ever have disciples who has not himself impulsive zeal enough to be a
disciple。 Great wits are allied to madness only inasmuch as they are
possessed and carried away by their demon； While talent keeps him； as
Paracelsus did； securely prisoned in the pommel of his sword。 To the
eye of genius； the veil of the spiritual world is ever rent asunder
that it may perceive the ministers of good and evil who throng
continually around it。 No man of mere talent ever flung his inkstand
at the devil。
When we say that Mr。 Poe had genius； we do not mean to say that he
has produced evidence of the highest。 But to say that he possesses it
at all is to say that he needs only zeal； industry； and a reverence
for the trust reposed in him； to achieve the proudest triumphs and
the greenest laurels。 If we may believe the Longinuses； and
Aristotles of our newspapers； we have quite too many geniuses of the
loftiest order to render a place among them at all desirable； whether
for its hardness of attainment or its seclusion。 The highest peak of
our Parnassus is； according to these gentlemen； by far the most
thickly settled portion of the country； a circumstance which must
make it an uncomfortable residence for individuals of a poetical
temperament； if love of solitude be； as immemorial tradition asserts；
a necessary part of their idiosyncrasy。
Mr。 Poe has two of the prime qualities of genius； a faculty of
vigorous yet minute analysis； and a wonderful fecundity of
imagination。 The first of these faculties is as needful to the artist
in words； as a knowledge of anatomy is to the artist in colors or in
stone。 This enables him to conceive truly； to maintain a proper
relation of parts； and to draw a correct outline； while the second
groups； fills up and colors。 Both of these Mr。 Poe has displayed with
singular distinctness in his prose works； the last predominating in
his earlier tales； and the first in his later ones。 In judging of the
merit of an author； and assigning him his niche among our household
gods； we have a right to regard him from our own point of view； and
to measure him by our own standard。 But； in estimating the amount of
power displayed in his works； we must be governed by his own design；
and placing them by the side of his own ideal； find how much is
wanting。 We differ from Mr。 Poe in his opinions of the objects of
art。 He esteems that object to be the creation of Beauty； and perhaps
it is only in the definition of that word that we disagree with him。
But in what we shall say of his writings； we shall take his own
standard as our guide。 The temple of the god of song is equally。
accessible from every side； and there is room enough in it for all
who bring offerings； or seek in oracle。
In his tales； Mr。 Poe has chosen to exhibit his power chiefly in that
dim region which stretches from the very utmost limits of the
probable into the weird confines of superstition and unreality。 He
combines in a very remarkable manner two fac